


the beast that can't be killed

by Splat_Dragon



Series: Whumptober 2020 [16]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: "Chronic Pain", "I Don't Feel So Well", Chronic Pain, Prompt: Chronic Pain, Prompt: I Don't Feel So Well, Spoilers, Whumptober, Whumptober 2020, whumptober2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:09:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27126337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splat_Dragon/pseuds/Splat_Dragon
Summary: Whumptober 2020, #21: I Don't Feel So Well: "Chronic Pain"In life, Arthur and John had a lot of differences. They were the same in many ways, too. Towards the end, they shared one thing.After Lone Mule Stead, Arthur’s shoulder never did stop bothering him.After Dutch left him to die on the train tracks, John’s arm never did stop hurting.
Series: Whumptober 2020 [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1945801
Comments: 1
Kudos: 31
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	the beast that can't be killed

###  _The beast that can't be killed_  
~Bitter Water, Oh Hellos

After Lone Mule Stead, Arthur’s shoulder never did stop bothering him.

For a while it had _burned_ as infection raged, though Hosea and Grimshaw and Swanson had tried their best and then it had _chilled,_ numb and uncomfortable, and he’d clung to the hope that it would eventually stop hurting, that he’d be able to raise his arm above shoulder-height without shooting pains rocketing down it, without his fingers starting to tingle, without it beginning to jerk out of his control.

It never did, though.

Only ever got worse. 

He had to take breaks more and more as time went on. Had to dangle his arm as he rode else it began to throb from the effort of holding it in place with the horse’s motion beneath him, constantly had to stretch and shake it out lest pins and needles started up in his fingers, moved up his hand. Had to be careful when he handled his guns, mindful of the kickback - he’d gotten distracted, once, and nearly been shot when agony had exploded through his shoulder, kickback shoving the gun back just-so to slam it into the scar.

He’d put a bullet between the Pinkerton’s eyes, then been violently sick from the pain.

It grew worse as he neared his end.

Had to ride harder and harder, had to ignore his sickness, his body’s pain. He had to switch to one handed guns, unable to handle rifles or similar without fumbling them, arm shaking and giving out, constantly _screaming,_ begging for a reprieve that he didn't have time to give, didn’t know how much time he had left and he had so much left to do.

  
  


It was only when he was fading on the mountain, watching the sun rise, as his body slowly went numb, that his shoulder finally stopped hurting.

  
  
  


After Dutch left him to die on the train tracks, John’s arm never did stop hurting.

Maybe it was because he landed on it after it got shot. Or maybe he overdid it, dragging himself back to Beaver Hollow using it after the same. Using it to fight his way up the mountain without getting a moment of rest.

As it was, it never did stop hurting.

It hurt _less_ over time, sure. Didn’t _scream,_ didn’t throb with each beat of his heart.

But when it got cold, or he used it too much, it _ached._ His arm trembled, the muscle grew weak. Gave out, and he dropped whatever he held.

He’d always thought Arthur’s way of riding towards the end had been odd, had been funny. Arm dangling, loosely holding the reins in one hand. But he’d found himself doing the same without meaning to, finding it hurt less though he didn’t ride as much as he used to, the horse’s jostling killing his arm.

And working at Gedde’s Ranch… well, it damned well hurt. Handling the animals, pulling on lassos and getting jerked around didn’t do his arm any favors. But it was honest work, and Abigail was happy. Bringing his arm above his shoulder was _pain,_ made him want to scream, but so long as he was careful, didn’t mind the strange looks he got, he could avoid it.

And then Abigail _wasn’t_ happy, and he was buying a ranch.

He thought his arm might come off, and some nights found himself kept up by pain so severe he had thoughts of cutting off the limb. Replacing the fencing, moving the stones, putting up walls… some days he vomited from the pain.

When he saw Abigail’s face though, it was all worth it.

Though sometimes, when he had to handle an angry stallion, or wrangle a cow, and his arm exploded with pains, he resented her for it.

  
  


It was only as he was bleeding out on the ground, staring his death in the eyes, as his body went numb, that his arm finally stopped hurting.


End file.
